


Finale

by LallybrochLoser



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Death, F/M, Faith Lives AU, Modern AU, Terminal Illnesses, dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LallybrochLoser/pseuds/LallybrochLoser
Summary: Six months to live. How would you spend that time, knowing the end was nigh?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 66
Kudos: 107





	1. Foreword

So, I wanted to take a moment to say something about this so you know the context of why I wrote it.

For those of you who follow me on Tumblr probably know what's been going on. But for those who prefer to read and follow my work on AO3, and not on any social media platform, my mother in law died unexpectedly about a month ago. Despite being given a terminal cancer diagnosis (this would have been her 4th cancer battle; she had previously fought and survived breast, thyroid, and lymphoma), and being told even with treatment, she had about 6-18 months left. The ONLY reason she even decided to go along with treatment in the first place was because my sister-in-law, her youngest child, is set to get married in October, and she wanted to at least live long enough to say that "I witnessed all three of my children marry the loves of their lives."

She died three weeks after her diagnosis, leaving all of us struggling.

Her memorials took place in the first weekend of August. The boys and I flew out to give her a proper farewell. After it was all set and done, my father in law handed my husband a composite journal.

"What's this, Dad?" Wolf had asked.

"Your mother's final wishes," Dad replied. "She took the time to write out everything that I would need to know after she was gone, but...well, just take a look at the first few pages."

Wolf and I retired to our bedroom to read it while my sisters-in-law looked after our son, so we could have some privacy.

We sobbed the entire time reading it.

She wrote individual messages to each of us. Her husband, her born children, and her "new children" as she called us. Those of us who married into the family. See, on my husband's side, the term "in-law" is a dirty word. I was never Momy's "daughter-in-law." I was her "new daughter," first, and then I became her "oldest daughter" when Wolf's little brother got married last year.

Because of that dynamic, I ended up having a closer relationship with her than I have with my own biological mother. I never had to explain myself, or justify anything I did, no matter what it was. She trusted me with her whole heart and believed that whatever I was doing, I had a good reason, and it should be respected.

I was just as much her daughter as her youngest baby was. And that meant the world to me.

When I grieve, I write. Or, at least I try to. Lately I know I haven't been riding that train for a consistent amount of time.

But this little thing I'm doing here? This is me grieving and processes a death that I believe shouldn't have happened quite so soon.

It was supposed to be a one shot, but like with most of my work, I let the words write themselves and therefore it'll be broken up into 2 or 3 parts.

If you're still reading this, thank you. Part 1 will be up shortly.

~Liz xx


	2. Keep Moving Forward

This was it. The final curtain call, or so I told myself.

I had been having trouble breathing and couldn’t work out with Jamie like I used to, so he suggested I go see our family doctor.

Two appointments with her, three consultations, a biopsy and three weeks of waiting later, Jamie and I were told I had six months to live.

Six months.

My logically-functioning mind started grasping at straws on how to appropriately react to this. Should I cry? Scream to the heavens, beg them for more time? Get angry at the world for the unjust sentence I’d been handed? Or...should I start making the best of what I had left, and maximize living while I was still functional?

My prognosis was so poor, that I wasn’t even given treatment options.

“What am I to do now?” I asked the oncologist.

“My advice? Start preparing. It’s going to go down hill real fast.”

Jamie and I chose the latter. We naturally had to sit down and tell the children. Faith and Brianna, who were grown now with husbands and children of their own, were naturally beside themselves but understood and respected my choices, and praised their father for supporting me. Fergus and Willie were a bit younger than their sisters but more or less had the same feelings. I think our sons were going to be affected by this the most in the long run.

“I’ll see to it that they have all the proper support fer...when...ye ken...” Jamie tried to assure me, but I could see his chin start to wobble a bit as he spoke. My heart went out to him. I knew he was going to be suffering the most. But what could I do?

I was basically giving up. Right?

No. No I wasn’t.

I wasn’t lying down to spend the rest of my days feeling sorry for myself.

I was going to live to the best of my ability. I was going to keep moving forward until my body forced me to stop.

But I needed a place to start, and journaling was how I found peace with myself over the last several years. Ask anyone who knew me: I had dozens of filled-up journals tucked away in the basement along with other priceless family items.

But this particular journal would be my last one. My grand finale.

I decided to use it as my last will and testament.


	3. Your Sassenach, Your Sorcha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left condolences in the comments. And thank you for sharing your own stories with me. There probably will be a few more chapters than I had originally planned, but today is the day that they will all be written (as much as my children will allow me to lol) so stay tuned for more <3 xx

Sitting at my desk, I had myself wrapped in a few of Jamie’s old wool tartans for the extra warmth (my body natural temperature had dropped considerably as of late so the house was colder to me than everyone else). I had my new journal opened to the first page, still staring at me blank as my mind, the pen tapping lightly against the aging mahogany wood of the desk.

How does one proclaim their final thoughts? How was I to summarize my entire life’s story into a single  £ 5 notebook?

_ Well, Beauchamp, you start at the beginning. _

The beginning…

There was only one person in the world whom I believed was the beginning, and the end, of it all. 

_ My dearest Jamie, _

That sounded ridiculous aloud, but didn’t scratch it out.

_ In what way could I describe my love for you in such a place? I know I probably don’t have to. Almost 30 years of marriage has shown us that we no longer need to speak, or make love, or even breathe a sound, to express our love for one another. You know my heart, as well as I know yours. You once told me that I held your soul between my two hands, and kept it safe when you needed it most. Well, darling, you have done the same for me, especially in the last several weeks. There will never be enough time for me to express my gratitude to you. _

_ I could have never imagined that day when I was sixteen, the night of that dance in high school neither of us wanted to attend (and did anyway) when you asked me to dance with you, how that would be the start of what I’m now realizing was the rest of our lives. How could I have known that the two of us, in just a few short years, would become one? _

_ I couldn’t. And that is what made it so magical. _

_ You gave me sanctuary, shelter, and protection from all manner of storms. Both figurative and literal, I might add. You gave me the ability to bear you four beautiful children, at a time where I didn’t think I physically could. You cherished me at my best, my worst, and my everything in between. When my hair started turning grey, you called me 'calman geal.' Gray dove. I called you the King of All Men for that. You laughed and shrugged it off, but I meant it then, as I mean it now. You are the King of Men, and our sons and daughters are very fortunate to have you as their father. _

_ You can speak seven different languages, a few of them legally classified as dead languages, and yet I know you can’t find a single word in any of them to express how much grief you’re going through right now. I know you well, James Fraser. I can see it all in your bonny blue eyes. You’re hurting. Your heart is wounded by this. The mere thought of going on without me is unfathomable and inconceivable. And yet if you could take this awful reality away from me to spare my suffering, you’d do it in a heartbeat. But what you’ll never realize is that, I would do it for you as well. _

I paused and reread the words. Something felt off about it, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to scratch them out and start over. So, I left them there, and continued writing.

_ But nothing we do or say now can change the fact that I’m going to die before the year’s end. _

I paused again, breathing heavily. Not because of the cancerous tumors growing so closely to my lungs that they’re suffocating me from the inside, but because that was the first time I had ever acknowledge to myself the harsh, ugly truth.

I was dying. I was going to die. And no force in the world could stop it. Not me, not Jamie, nor any doctor on the planet.

The end was nigh.

But, saying the truth aloud, albeit in writing, also gave me a power I’d never felt before.

_ So, if nothing else, take heed in the fact that I am so proud of you. In everything you have done, do now, and will do long after I’m gone. The children are fine members of society in part thanks to you, and how we raised them together as a team. I cannot take full credit for their upbringing. Brianna and Faith are both respected members of the fields of work, with husbands that rival your own strength as a man sometimes, and their children will one day be told about me with all the love they bear for me. William wants to join the military after he graduates high school, thanks to you and your honorable services to the Crown's service. And, despite Fergus not knowing yet what he wants to do with his life, I have no doubt that you will guide him with all the love you bear for him. _

_ I know this letter probably doesn’t do us justice, and the world is a cruel, cold, horrible place. But just with you being in my life, you made it safe. You made it warm. And you made it feel like a place full of love. _

_ I will take your love for me, your complete and utter devotion for me, and the time we had together with me into wherever I am destined beyond this life. _

_ My final wish for you, my love, is that you find your place in a world where I am not there. That you find your happiness, no matter what that is. _

_ I love you. _

_ Your Sassenach, _

_ Your Sorcha, _

_ Claire _

I couldn’t stop the tears now. I had kept them at bay for as long as I was writing because I wanted the words to be somewhat legible now and in the future. But once that damn broke, I didn’t stop sobbing until I woke up at what felt like a few hours later, with Jamie sitting at my desk, and no memory of how I ended up tucked in the bed in my office.

I could see two things right away, all from my husband’s body language. One, he had read the entry I wrote to him, and he had been crying. Heavily. And two, he wasn’t sitting in a position that showed me he was agitated or angry. 

He seemed...pensive.

“How long have I been out?” I asked him, sitting up to yawn.

“About an hour,” Jamie replied, “I found ye asleep at yer desk, and brought ye tae bed. Dinna fash, Sassenach, ye didna weep all over yer wee notes.”

“So...” I began, unsure as to how to proceed with what was brewing in my head. “You read it?”

“Aye,” Jamie breathed, and wiped what was  _ clearly _ dust and  _ not  _ tears at all, thank you very much. But he had a small smile on his face. “Aye, I did.”

_ Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Fraser,  _ I thought,  _ I can’t exactly read minds!  _

“...and?”

Jamie sat silently for a long moment, as if he was unsure what to say. Then, he took a deep breath, stood to join me at the bedside, and said, with utter confidence, “if ye’ve made peace wi’ this, then it’s high time I did too. I'll follow ye tae the ends o' the earth. Even if that end means yer grave.”

I embraced him from my position in the bed. We both wept together. For the time we had, the time we had left, and the time that we would destined to be separated for eternity.


	4. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit on the short side, but the next one will probably be the longest. Thanks for reading xx

When I woke the next morning, Jamie and I were still nestled in the spacious queen-sized bed that adorned the back corner of my office, warm and comfortable. His arm was around my middle and he was still asleep, lightly breathing with a few quiet snorts here and there. It got me thinking:  _ when was the last time I woke up before him and just...studied my sleeping husband? _

So I did just that. I took in every inch of him while he lay immobile and restful. He had shed his shirt at some point during the night; I didn’t blame him as my office tended to get hot overnight no matter the weather. He was spooning me, therefore his chest was initially against my back before I turned around to face him. His chest was still as broad as it always was, rising and falling slightly with each deep, lethargic breath. I could see the pulsebeat in his neck, slow and steady, thumping casually along strong jawlines and a stubbled chin. I counted the beats in my head, despite having his resting heart rate memorized from my time as a nurse. I had retired a few years ago once Faith and Brianna started having children of their own, wanting to form a relationship with my grandchildren. Jamie had continued to work in the construction industry after he had served in the Royal Army. It always amazed me how Jamie could be so versitile, switching from soldering and killing in the name of the Queen, to working with his hands, building in the name of giving someone he didn't know a safe place.

I raised my hand and ran it down the length of his spine, feeling the worn and weathered scars on his back from his time as a tortured prisoner of war just as memorized in my mind as his heartbeat. I remember the day I got the knock on the door from someone within his regiment. The words "your husband is missing" nearly stopped my heart on the spot, my vision going blank and my body going numb at the thought that Jamie had died. In those days, being a soldier's widow wasn't a title to be proud of. It was a mark of shame, knowing your husband went out to fight in the Queen's name, and lost.

The memories of having to visit him in a hospital in England after he had been rescued two months later was still a sore spot, despite it being more than twenty years. He was bruised, battered, but the second I walked into that hospital room, he smiled. As if nothing had ever happened to him. I made him forget the agony of what he went through, even for just a moment. In that moment, though, I relived the memories, despite their painful nature. I needed to relive all my memories before my time was through. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it was important.

Maybe, for that particular memory, it was because Jamie and I had never told the children the truth of what happened, even after they had grown up. Maybe it was because only I knew the truth of a lot of things that Jamie had had to do during the war. Or maybe...maybe it was because if I didn't relive them now, I wouldn't have the chance to when my time was finally up.

The days, weeks and months after he'd come home from war, being honorably discharged from the Army's services, Jamie was a mess. He felt like he had failed in his duty as a soldier. He was angry with himself, and unfortunately the children bore witness to some of the fights we had had. Both of us said things that neither were proud of, things born from sorrow, rage, and grief. We had forgiven each other long ago, but reliving those memories, sometimes I wonder if I _really_ forgave him

A grunt, a fart, and a huge yawn snapped me out of my thought bubble and into the bright blue eyes of my husband, who was smiling down at me.

“Been awake long, Sassenach?” Jamie asked between yawns.

“Not long, no,” I replied, and he bent down to kiss me, his mouth warm and soft. As it had always been.

_ “Madainn mhath,”  _ Jamie said, grinning as he stretched before getting out of bed.

“Good morning to you too,” I replied.

“I’m achin’ fer a shower. Best do it now ‘afore I start my day,” Jamie said. He got to the doorway and stopped, turning around to face me directly. “I love ye.”

“I love you, soldier,” I replied, my heart clenching at the realization that Jamie was making sure he said it every chance he got.

Because neither of us knew when it would be our last.

He saw the tears in my eyes gathering at the corners. He smiled.

“When the day shall come that we do part,” Jamie began, tears forming in his own eyes as he spoke, “if my last words are not ‘I love you’...ye ken it’s because I didna have time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madainn mhath = Good morning


	5. Inheritance

I spend the next few weeks trying to write as much as my failing body would allow. It got to the point where I had to stop after an hour or so because my hand would cramp up and the muscles were lock into place. Trying to force them out of their position once it got to that point was unnecessarily painful and, even with Jamie’s help, was no use.

I could feel myself growing weaker with each passing day. Faith and Brianna did their best to make sure I had ample time with their children, soaking up memories and reading stories to them, but after a while I had to make the painful decision and tell my daughters not to bring them around anymore. It was not only painful that I could no longer chase them around in the yard anymore, or keep enough breath to finish a simple story book, but I also didn’t want their last memories of me to be of me dying right before their young eyes.

The girls were very upset, but ultimately understood. Jamie made an extra effort, bless him, to go and see the girls and grandkids and keep them updated on my...progress...if you could even call it that.

In the time that I could write, I managed to fill half the notebook with everything Jamie would need to know after I was gone. That meant writing down all the online log-in usernames and passwords for various accounts I used to pay bills, bank routing and account numbers, their security code words, and assorted passwords I typically used and rotated around the internet, with tips on how Jamie could expand upon that in the future. I made sure he had all the Wi-Fi passwords for the correlating internet connections, the days that the garbage and recycling needed to be placed on the street corner, the all the phone numbers. Businesses we frequented, the supermarket and farmer's market, close family friends in the area, and even the doctor's offices that I had grown accustomed to seeing the inside of during the diagnosis phase. Jamie was a traditionalist when it came to communication, therefore he refused to acclimate himself to texting and tweeting, preferring to ring someone's mobile.

Then came the hardest part. Writing down my funeral plans.

I expressed that I wished to be buried on the property, next to his ancestors and family members. Lallybroch, Jamie's ancestral home, was passed down to him after the death of his father shortly before Faith was born, so while it needed some TLC, it served as a wonderful place for us to raise the children we ended up having. On the property, there was a small cemetery towards the back where four generations of Fraser men, women, and children were eternally resting. I needed to be as close to Jamie as I could be, even in death. I wanted a Catholic funeral, despite my slipping in my papist childhood teachings. I knew the Church would honor my request, and the priest would come out to perform the funeral services.

I also made a point to write down that, though these were my wishes, Jamie was free to alter them or completely throw them out and do his own thing if he so chose. And I told him in person over dinner one night.

"Sassenach," Jamie said, "if ye have yer wishes, I'll be damned if I dinna follow them to the letter."

When Jamie set his mind to something, it would get done. Come hell or high water. Ever the stubborn Scot.

I wrote down a list of all the heirlooms I possessed from my late parents and my Uncle Lambert, or Lamb as I affectionately called him, and whom I wanted them to be passed along to. I had a set of diamond earrings my mother wore on her wedding day to my father, the same ones that I wore on my own wedding day. I decided those would go to Faith. My mother had died shortly after mine and Jamie’s wedding, and my father, most likely suffering from a broken heart, died the following year. I was always thankful that they got to watch me grow up, and was equally grateful when my Uncle Lamb got to be a part of my children’s lives before his own passing when Faith was four and Brianna was two and a half.

Then there were the set of Scotch pearls that Jamie had given me as a wedding present. They belong to his mother, Ellen MacKenzie Fraser. At the time of our wedding, they looked like they were brand new. Like Jamie had gone to a jewelry shop the morning of and purchased them. Now, they lacked their original shine and splendor, but they were no less valuable to me or Jamie. I chose to have Brianna inherit those. She chose not to wear any fancy jewelry during her wedding, but I knew she would look at them and cherish not only the memory of me, but the memory of the grandmother that she resembled so much, yet never got to meet. Ellen had died when Faith was still an infant, almost two years before Brianna was born.

When I was younger, my father used to take me shooting. Something I greatly enjoying during my tomboyish youth. He’d purchased a small caliber handgun just for me, perfect for my nimble hands at the tender age of thirteen. Much to my mother’s dismay. I still had that gun in a locked safe in the basement, along with a small pouch of ammunition; Jamie was insistent on making sure it always had bullets, so that I could one day go shooting for fun again if I so desired.

Knowing what was to come, that would never happen, so I decided to bestow those items to William, who was becoming more and more serious about joining the Army and following in his father’s soldiering footsteps. With the laws in Britain now, he wouldn’t be able to go shooting for fun, but it would be a nice keepsake he would always have to remember me by.

Fergus was always fond of French history. Probably because Fergus was conceived during a second honeymoon Jamie and I went on in Paris. From the French revolution to the various historical figures throughout France’s lifespan, the young man was thrilled at the prospect of visiting Paris one day. He had expressed concern about not knowing what he wanted to do with his life now that he was of age, but I had no doubt that whatever he decided to do, he would excel at. Like his engineering sister Brianna, he had a keen eye for how things were made. Only for Fergus, he had his eye on infrastructure, rather than Brianna’s love for mechanical engineering. I hoped that Jamie would be a bit on the persuasive side when it came to that fine detail in our youngest child’s life. So, for Fergus, I determined that he would inherit the Parisian brooch Jamie had brought me as an anniversary gift. Granted, it was the exact same brooch he wore when in full Highlander regalia, the Fraser Clan pin that had the motto “Je Suis Prest” on it, but-

_“I bought it here in Paris,”_ Jamie had told me, _“therefore it’s verra special!”_

I laughed at the memory of me rolling my eyes at him as I accepted the gift.

I wrote down to Jamie that there was a safety deposit box in Oxfordshire in mine and my Uncle Lamb’s name, and he had been listed as a guarantor to it.

_It has about_ £ _40,000 in it, originally started as a uni fund by my grandparents for me, but I never used it as I had a full nursing scholarship to Stirling. But once a month, I would add as much money to it as I could, hoping one day it would be of some use to our own children. I now would like you to split it up as an inheritance._ _£10,000 for each child. If the girls want their share right away, go ahead and give it to them. But I’d rather you wait until the boys are officially of age. I wish I could be here to celebrate with them._

Then it hit me.

I was so wrapped up in making sure all the final preparation details were finalized, that I hadn’t written a note to my children!

“Well, that just won’t do,” I said to no one.

I tore out a few blank pages from the back of the notebook and started writing.

_To my children..._


	6. The Good Fraser Name

_To my children,_

_I don’t know whether or not your father plans to keep these notes from you until all of you are old enough to comprehend, or if he plans to let you read them immediately, but I will write this as simply as I can. Mostly because, as of today, it’s been one month since my diagnosis and my body isn’t allowing me to write as much as I used to. So, forgive me if things become illegible._

_First and foremost, words will never be able to describe what it is to be a mother. But more important, what it is to have been_ your _mother. Each and every one of you is special to me in your own unique way, and yet I fiercely love all of you equally. There are biases that you develop when you become a parent, as some of you already know about, and this has caused me to see the joyous individuality within all of you._

_To Faith Julia Margeret Fraser MacLean,_

_My first born. My first daughter. I had a lot of “firsts” with you, my darling._

_Your father and I were very scared when we learned we were expecting you. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, many of the people who did not approve of us getting married so young were even less approving of us having children right away. We were in dire straights before your arrival, and we genuinely worried we would not be able to give you the life we felt you deserved._

_But the moment your Da and I heard your heartbeat for the first time, the moment we wept in that tiny, dirty, less-than-reputable clinic room, something told both of us that everything would be fine. Because you were alive, and thriving, from within my womb._

_By the time you were born, we could not wait to welcome your arrival. But, as you’re aware, not everything went according to plan. We almost lost you, and by extension, the world almost lost me. Your father praises God every day that you survived and beat the odds._

_And now, you continue to do that. Surpassing all our expectations by leaps and bounds. You were your high school’s valedictorian, and you graduated with the highest honour, the Dean’s List acknowledgement, when you completed your education at the University of Stirling. That was my Alma Mater too._

_I will forever be proud to be the mother of Dr. MacLean, emergency room physician. And the day you married Alastair MacLean, fellow colleague and neurosurgeon, we knew you were in good hands no matter what life would throw your way._

_It pains my heart to know that I will never again be able to read little Julia her favorite story, Goodnight Moon, nor see another one of wee Jefferey’s little league games. Both you and Al are fine parents, and I know you will do your part to keep my memory alive for them._

_I will cherish every moment I did get to spend with them._

_In your heart always,_ _  
__Mum x_

_To Brianna Ellen Jocasta Fraser MacKenzie,_

_My mechanical engineer. From the moment you could walk and talk, you were attempting to take the VCR apart to figure out how it worked. Much to your Da’s dismay, as he was the one who ended up having to put it back together. Though, I’m fairly certain he has forgiven both of us for the small electrocution accident he suffered when you were six._

_Your reputation as being Broch Mordha’s “wee fixer lassie” has definitely preceded you; I cannot tell you how many of the locals who would ring me on a daily basis to have you reprogram a telly for them, or fix a loose wire, thinking you were old enough to even have some of the tools required for the job! Though you’re no longer fixing tellies and VHS players, you are doing a fantastic job of keeping Scotland’s electrical infrastructure from crumbling beneath us. And I couldn’t be more proud to be your mother._

_It seems like you are taking after your Aunt Jenny and having more children than they ever did! You’ve already surpassed me and Da with the joyous news that you and Roger are expecting baby number five. I am very saddened to my core that I will not be here when your latest bundle of joy is born, but I hope that some of the trinkets I played with as a child myself, that I will be leaving for you to give to the new baby someday, will serve to preserve my memory for many years to come._

_You are every bit your father’s daughter, but in more ways than just your appearance. Your internal fire, your tenacity to stand up for what you believe in, and the spirit that carries you through life. Those will be your legacy someday._

_I will always love you, my little firecracker,_

_From my heart,_

_Mama x_

_To William Clarence George Fraser,_

_My wee soldier._

_You’re not so wee anymore, are you?_

_Hah, I’ll never forget the day you told your father you wanted to fight for the Crown just like he did. You were seven years old, and Da spit his coffee all over the living room table! I’m sure you know by now that he was just shocked, and not mocking you in anyway. Of course we would always support you in whatever you decide to pursue in life. You will make Her Majesty’s military very proud someday, love._

_My first born son. The first one who shall someday carry on the Fraser name. Your father was absolutely delighted the day we found out you were a boy during my pregnancy. The poor man thought he was being punished by God and destined to sire daughters forever!_

_But the moment you were placed into his arms...well, let’s just say that he thanked God that day that whatever he had done to suffer His wrath was finally over. Your father doted on you for those early years. He wanted to experience everything that a boy’s father was supposed to! I already spent a fortune on film canisters for his camera for your sisters, but I’m fairly certain it would have been cheaper to take out a second mortgage with all the film I bought to keep your father supplied in memory capture until you were old enough to drink!_

_I know you share in your father’s grief. The two of you are very much alike. And, while I wish I could take it all away, and keep on living a healthy life, that was not in the cards for me. I will never get to see you graduate from whatever military academy you end up going to. I will never get to meet the woman who should become your bride, nor ever hold the children you two may or may not have. And I am so sorry for that._

_I love you, my son. And I am very proud of the man you are becoming._

_All the blessing I can give,_

_Mummy x_

_To Fergus Jared Claudel Fraser,_

_My youngest babe. My wee Frenchman at heart. I’ll always cherish the memory of you learning French for the first time. You were so ecstatic to learn about the history, culture, language, and pride of France. You are probably the least Scottish a purebred Scottish Highlander could sire, but your father and I love you for exactly the kind of person you are. And always will!_

_You were my little comedian. And still are! Always trying to make everyone laugh, despite the dark times we faced as a family. You never had any stage fright, always willing to make yourself the center of any party or gathering, your mission to entertain the masses never ceased to amaze me. I do feel like that could be your calling, in the event you are still trying to find your way in life. I know that, just like with your older siblings, whatever it is you decide to do, you will succeed at. You have your father’s fiery stubbornness, always doing what you put your mind to. And you have my tenacity to set attainable goals for yourself, only resting when you have achieved them._

_I only have one regret for you, my son, and it’s that I will most likely miss your high school graduation. Your studies have flourished over the last several months, and your grades have made your father and I so proud! Like your brother before you, your father is extremely happy the day you were born and we discovered you were a boy. We decided to try something different, and keep your gender reveal a surprise until the birth. He once again praised God for the blessing of yet another man who could someday carry on the good Fraser name. I am proud this day, as any day, that he chose me to be the mother of his children. But, unlike your sisters, whatever life you make for yourself, whomever you decide to settle down with, whatever children you may have, I will not be here for that. It makes me a bit sad, knowing I will miss so much._

_I have to have faith that you will find your way in life with the help of your father and your brother and sisters. They believe in you, just as I always have. Trust in that. It will not fail you._

_No matter how much you grow, you will always be my “_ petit grand homme.” _Now and forever,_

_Brille pour toujours, mon cher,_

_Mère xx_

Setting down my pen, I felt something inside my chest start to simmer. Then grow into a feeling that I knew patients had told me many times. I knew the sensation, and the fear gripped me in a way that I’ll never be able to describe.

I dropped the pen on the floor, and in the process of standing up, my gait trembled along with my body, and I knocked over the cup of water that was on my desk, sending a gush of fluid all over the floor.

_Was this it?_

_**“JAMIE!”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> petit grand homme = little big man  
> Brille pour toujours, mon cher = Shine forever, my dear  
> Mère = Mother


	7. Sorcha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter is entirely from Jamie's point of view.  
> So yeah...you already know.
> 
> One last thank you from everyone who's given this wee series so much love. It means a lot to me and from the bottom of my heart, your feedback, kudos and love are the reason I'm still writing.  
> Thank you <3

Claire had told me once, verra early in our marriage, that if she were tae die ‘afore me, that she’d want tae be in our bed, at Lallybroch, surrounded by our bairns, our grandchildren, family and friends when she took her last breath. She didna want tae die alone, like her Uncle Lamb did.

I wish I could have given her that wish… The night she collapsed at home, I thought that would be the end o’ it all. I gave no thought or credence tae her wishes of where she wanted tae perish. I only had one thought in my mind.

_Please God, dinna take her now._

But, just as she always was in life, she fought her wee heart out until her heart couldna give anymore.

She may no’ have been wi’ us in her mind, but her spirit raged on fer a whole month before she joined her parents and uncle in Heaven.

I had rung an ambulance the second I found her on the floor, gaspin’ fer air and no’ hearin’ me shoutin’ her name. I rung her doctor after that, tellin’ him what had happened. He met us at A&E.

She was immediately taken to intensive care, fer we didna think she would last the night. Once settled, I called all the children, lettin’ ‘em know the latest developments. Faith, my braw wee doctor, demanded tae know all her Mam’s vital signs and lab reports. I wasna in a position to give her all that, so she insisted on comin’ tae the hospital tae see fer herself. Faith was always the most protective of Claire out o’ all the bairns, and it didna surprise me in the slightest. But I told her tae stay home wi’ her own weans. They would need her a bit more this night, as she would need Al by her side.

I didna leave my Sassenach’s side fer two whole weeks. She wasna always coherent, but when she was lucid enough fer speakin’, all she would say was that she loved me, and thankin’ me fer all the wonderful years o’ being her husband.

“Hush, _mo nighean donn,_ ” I’d say every time, “save yer strength, ye need yer rest, _a ghràidh_.”

By the time our children came tae see her, they commanded me tae go home and shower. I couldna blame them; I kent I stunk like a bowl of mouldy tripe, but I didna want tae leave my bride, the Lady of Lallybroch, tae suffer alone.

Another week had passed ‘afore Claire stopped breathin’ on her own altogether. Scans revealed that the tumours had grown sae much in the past month and a half that her lungs werena able tae expand on their own. It was a risk, but one I ken she’d be willin’ tae take. She was put on a ventilator until we could gather the family together to say one final goodbye.

Four days after that, my beloved Claire was put on life support. I felt like I was breaking my vow tae her about honorin’ her final wishes. I kent fine weel how she didna want tae be on any life-saving machines, but I also knew that she’d never fergive herself if the children couldna see her one final time.

It was a wee stramash wi’ the hospital staff, trying tae get everyone in her room fer those final moments. But my wee doc, Faith, and her husband Al, came chagrin’ in wi’ that Fraser/MacLean determination and put the orderlies in their places.

Everyone got tae say their peace. All four of our children. All four of the little lives that lived in Claire’s belly fer a time, for in her heart forever, held their mother’s hands along wi’ mine as she breathed her last.

The moment her heart stopped beating, a part o’ my soul died wi’ her.

\---

_“We gather tae celebrate the life o’ Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser...”_

Mentally, I was barely present fer Claire’s funeral mass. I wore my tartan fer her. She always loved the Fraser colours. Said it brought out the blue in my eyes, especially on a sunny day. Claire must’ve put in a word or two wi’ God, because the day we laid her tae rest was the day the sun came out after months of the usual Scottish rains.

We buried Claire next tae my father. Brianna was named after him. And my mother and auntie, Ellen and Jocasta. Wi’ Faith, we chose named on Claire’s side o’ the family; Julia fer her mother, and Margeret fer her mother’s middle name.

I could hear my daughters sobbin’ into the arms o’ their husbands, Al and Roger. Their weans were all runnin’ about the grounds at Lallybroch during the burial. None o’ them were old enough tae ken their Grannie was gone, so I wasna about tae make them sit through the services. Faith and Brianna appreciated that I think, so they could have adequate space ‘afore their mother’s plot tae grieve.

I did my best wi’ honouring Claire’s final wishes, but instead of a coffin in the ground, I had her cremated. Part o’ her ashes would forever remain part o’ the Scottish soil, and the other half...weel...I had special plans fer that.

\---

About a week after Claire’s funeral, I hiked up the mountain beside Broch Mordha alone, wi’ nothing but a day’s provisions, and my wife’s ashes in a wee ceramic pot. Fergus made it himself, and he wanted me tae use it tae send Mam off. It was a colourful wee thing, and alongside it, there were several painted forget-me-nots. Claire’s favourite flower.

 _“I plan to keep makin’ things like this, Da,”_ Fergus had said.

 _“D’ye now?”_ I inquired as I raised a brow in his direction.

_“I...I think I know what I want tae do wi’ my life, Père. I want tae be a blacksmith. I ken this isna blacksmithing work...but with practice, the skill itself can help me acquire an apprenticeship wi’ Mr. Armond in Inverness.”_

I grinned. Fergus’ always tried tae suppress his Scottish accent whenever he could get away wi’ it. But the longer he talked tae me, the heavier it came out. I looked down at the wee creation he’d made not three days ago, and marveled at the love he clearly had fired into it.

 _“Well,_ mon fis, _”_ I had said wi’ a smile, _“if this is what ye can do wi’ a kiln, I canna wait tae see what ye do wi’ silver.”_

I spread my tartan out along the highest attainable peak a person could hike wi’out needin’ oxygen, and sat down wi’ some wee sandwiches, my flask filled wi’ her favourite whisky, and the wind whispering tae me all the words of Claire’s heart. Things I kent she couldna tell me anymore.

I spoke tae the wind as if she were there wi’ me. I laughed at the lighter memories, my heart warmed at the times we’d held each other’s souls in the palms o’ our hands, and wept like a bairn at all the times I wish I could share wi’ her again. Just one last time.

My provisions finished off, and the sun startin’ tae set, I stood tae complete the task I came there tae do.

I held the wee pot in my hands, facing it directly, as I did wi’ Claire so many times in our lives. I imagined she was standin’ there ‘afore me, her wild brown locks whippin’ around her face in the wind, her whisky eyes borin’ into mine, her heart pounding softly against my hand, clasped tightly in hers and directly on her chest.

A tight smile crossed my face. _“Chì mi a-rithist thu aon latha, a nighean.”_ I took a deep breath, lettin’ the air of Scotland soothe my lungs fully. Slowly opening the pot, I felt a harsh, swift breeze whip my hair around, and I tipped the contents of the pot into the air.

I choked on a wee sob as I saw what was left of my wife’s earthly body be scattered into the air. She may have been born a Sassenach, but she was my Sassenach, and a Scotswoman at heart.

_“Bidh mo chridhe gu bràth leatsa.”_

\---

Living alone at Lallybroch only lasted about six months before I couldna stand the place. I couldna walk about any o’ halls, the same halls that I had stomped up and down in as a bairn meself, wi’out expectin’ tae see Claire around the corner. It was maddening.

I kent I had tae leave. It wasna a home wi’out my wife there wi’ me. It never would be the same again. The thought o’ leavin’ Lallybroch, the same place where I, my siblings, and my children, were all born, pained me greatly. But I had tae look out fer myself now, and I couldna dwell where nothing but pain resided.

I contacted an old family friend, Ned Gowan, who was also the Fraser family lawyer, and inquired about transferrin’ the deed into one o’ of the children’s names.

“Oh it’s verra easy tae do, Jamie, verra easy indeed,” Ned had assured me. “But it’s a matter o’ which of yer children wants Lallybroch. They’d have tae be willing tae sign in person the transfer of ownership paperwork. Have ye talked tae any o’ them, _a charaid?”_

When I told him that I hadna, he laughed at me. I took it as a gesture o’ good humour. God kent I needed every bit o’ humour I could get.

I invited all four children tae sit wi’ me over dinner one night tae discuss the matter. Just them, no spouses or weans this time. As their father, I needed their undivided attention on this matter.

In the end, it was agreed upon that Brianna and Roger would take immediate ownership o’ Lallybroch, the house and all its lands, and move in after their fifth bairn was born. She was about a month away from havin’ another wee lad or lassie. They wanted it tae be a surprise. And wanted me tae be there when the child was born.

I transferred the title of Lallybroch to Brianna’s name since it was hers by birthright. A month later, she had a wee lassie. I got tae cut the cord, which didna creep me out as much as I thought it would.

I looked upon my daughter, seeing her sae radiant wi’ child, just as her mother was wi’ her, and I wept.

_If only ye coulda lived long enough tae see this, Sassenach…_

“She is here, Da,” Brianna had said as she nursed her little wean.

I didna realize I’d spoken aloud.

“I ken, _a leannan,_ ” I breathed, but cursed internally as my voice cracked under emotion.

“No, Da, ye misunderstand me. She’s right _here._ ”

When she gestured towards the babe at her breast, my world stopped fer just an instant.

“Da, may I present to ye, yer granddaughter. Claire Elizabeth Brianna Fraser MacKenzie.”

The bairn had already detached herself from her mam’s chest, and Brianna handed the wee thing to me.

Brown, in colour, like her father. _Like her Grannie…_

But when the child opened her eyes, my heart stopped at the sight of my Claire’s unique golden amber eyes. The colour of finely aged whisky. The same eyes I had fell in love wi’...all those years ago…

I couldna stop the hitch in my voice as I sobbed, and I hoped the bairn wouldna start cryin’ wi’ me.

_“Sorcha.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chì mi a-rithist thu aon latha, a nighean = I will see you again one day, my dear.  
> Bidh mo chridhe gu bràth leatsa = My heart will always be with you.


End file.
